


Say I Do And Kiss Me Quick

by Thistlerose



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-16
Updated: 2010-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-10 03:53:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/95182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never accept relationship advice from Captain Kirk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say I Do And Kiss Me Quick

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you R_becca for beta reading.

As with most misadventures, this one began with a suggestion from Captain Kirk. "Scotty," he said one night over drinks in the _Enterprise_ rec room, "when _are_ you going to marry that nice Orion girlfriend of yours?"

"Ah." Scott found himself at a loss. Up until that moment, he could have sworn that the conversation had been about the rising price of dilithium crystals and whether or not they should all become miners once they'd completed their service to Starfleet. He shouldn't have been so surprised, he supposed; the captain was generally a few pages ahead of everyone else, even after a few shots, perhaps _especially_ after a few shots.

"Do Orions even have weddings?" wondered Sulu. "Aren't most of the women basically…sex slaves?"

"Backwards culture," muttered McCoy.

"Doctor," said Spock, "I am afraid you speak out of ignorance."

"The hell I do," McCoy said gruffly, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. "Any culture that keeps or sells slaves is backwards. I don't care if they're Orion or the glorified Romans or my own goddamn ancestors."

"I merely meant," said Spock in a placid tone, "that because so much of the Orion culture is carefully guarded and therefore unknowable – for the moment – to condemn it without first conducting extensive research is…illogical."

All eyes turned to Scott. "Well, don't look at me," he said. "It's not something I've ever thought to ask the lass, and she certainly hasn't brought it up. We're quite happy with things as they are. 'Sides, I almost feel like I'm married already – to this lovely lady right here." He patted the ship's wall. "I think Gaila feels the same way."

"You should marry her," said Kirk. "I haven't officiated at a wedding since Spock's. That's working out, isn't it?" He clapped his first officer on the shoulder.

"Relations between Lieutenant Uhura and myself are most satisfactory."

"Relations, huh?" said McCoy, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"Though perhaps I should add," Spock continued, ignoring him, "that this was the case prior to our marriage ceremony as well."

"If you don't want to marry her, don't marry her," put in Sulu. "It's not for everyone."

"'Sides, I'm pretty sure the captain has an ulterior motive," said McCoy, refilling everyone's whiskey.

"Oh?" Kirk looked intrigued.

"Yeah," said McCoy. "He's trying to get _us_ paired off and out of the way. Means more alien princesses for _him._ Well," he went on, waggling a finger under Kirk's nose, "it's not gonna work on me, kid. I've been down that road, and I'm not doing it again. No way, no how."

"Aw, Bones." Kirk's eyebrows pinched together innocently over his blue eyes. "I _was_ going to ask _you_, but since you're so dead-set against the whole idea…"

"Shut up," said McCoy, but Scott thought he saw the faintest of blushes tint his cheeks. Maybe it was the whiskey.

In any case, that was the end to that thread of conversation, though Scott kept thinking about the captain's words, as well as Spock's. Why not get married? Why not make it official? He and Gaila had been together – exclusively – for more than three years now. He loved her and believed her when she said that she loved him. He couldn't imagine a future without her and didn't want to. So, why not marry her?

After the whiskey ran out and they all said good night, Scott went to Gaila's quarters, which were practically his own, he slept there so often. He found her in bed but awake, gazing at the ceiling. She was naked, her long green limbs splayed wide across the white coverlet, her gorgeous coppery hair spread like an aureole against the pillow.

"I'm listening to the purr of the engines," she told him as the door whooshed shut behind him. Her voice was low-pitched, husky.

"Aye, it's a comforting sound," Scott agreed, kicking off his boots. Next he pulled off his uniform shirt and trousers. He couldn't wait to get into bed with her. He was dead tired, but certain parts of him were alert and responsive to her nudity.

She rolled onto her side and propped her cheek up on her palm. Her dark eyes gleamed as she watched him appreciatively. "I love that we're the ones who keep her going. I know I say that a lot."

"It's true. That we're the ones, I mean." Seating himself on the edge of the bed, Scott cupped her shoulder and pushed her back against the pillows. Leaning down, he kissed her mouth, gently at first, then hungrily. Her cool, graceful hand moved lightly up and down his side.

"Mmm," she murmured when he broke the kiss to reposition himself. "You taste like whiskey. And you smell just a little bit like engine grease. I'm very turned on."

"Aye, I can see that." Later he'd swear he must have gone a bit mad – and blame it all on one James T. Kirk and his damned notions. There were _so many_ other, _smarter_ things he could have done at that moment, lying on top of her, almost inside of her. But, no, he had to clasp her hands between his and say rather softly, "I'd like to keep her going – with you – forever. Officially. If you'd like."

She frowned at him quizzically. "What do you mean?"

"Gaila." Still looking her in the eyes, he brought her fingertips to his lips and kissed them gently. "I love ye, lass. Will you marry me?"

Like in some fairy tale, she seemed to turn to stone right there in his arms. Except for her eyes, which blazed. "Mister Scott," she said coldly, "I am not turned on anymore. Please get off me and get out."

*

Kirk had the grace to look chagrined when Scott approached him and McCoy in the mess at 0730 hours the next day. Between bites of grilled tomato and sausage and sips of black tea, he gave them the gist of what had happened.

"Dammit," said McCoy, cradling his coffee cup, "I'm a doctor, not a relationship counselor. Jim, you got him into this mess. You get him out of it."

Kirk narrowed his eyes briefly at McCoy before turning to Scott. "All right," he said. "What did you say to her last night? Tell me exactly. However bad it might have been, I'm sure we can fix it."

"I said that I loved her and would she marry me?"

"Oh." Kirk frowned for a moment. Then: "Did you maybe say it in a silly voice?"

McCoy choked on his coffee.

"I said it in my normal voice, Captain," Scott assured, while Kirk clouted McCoy between the shoulder blades. "I dinnae know what could have upset her. She's a mite unpredictable, but…I'd have _thought…_" For the moment, he was still more shocked and confused than anything else. Things couldn't possibly be over between him and Gaila. It was just too bizarre. Besides, it wasn't as if they'd never fought before. They'd had their share of heated rows…which led invariably to heated make-up sex. Sometimes, he was fairly certain, she started arguments just for the make-up sex.

This was different, though. Somehow he was sure that Gaila's coldness last night had not been an act. She must have misinterpreted his words.

_I love ye, lass. Will you marry me?_

All right, so there wasn't much room for misinterpretation in those eight little words. Still. It was Gaila. Unpredictable.

"Tell him how you proposed to your wife, Bones," said Kirk. "God knows I don't have any experience in this department."

"You really don't. And thank you so much, Jim, for dragging my _ex-_wife into this conversation. Fine." McCoy shrugged. "If you think a lesson in ancient history'll do a goddamn thing." He stared over the rim of his coffee cup and for a brief moment his eyes unfocused. "Mississippi. Graduation party. In a friend's backyard. Damned if I can remember whose. There was bad beer. There was a _lot_ of bad beer." A corner of his mouth quirked and his voice softened almost imperceptibly. "Jocelyn had on this dress… Gentlemen, it was lightest, flimsiest little thing you've ever seen in your young lives."

Kirk looked as if he doubted that, but he held his tongue.

McCoy shrugged again. "Woke up the next morning hungover and engaged. We threw up, I took her out for breakfast, and we decided it wasn't the worst idea either of us had ever had. We'd been dating maybe five months by that point. Turned out we were wrong, but…"

Kirk said, "You have a history of starting relationships with vomiting, I've noticed."

"I'm afraid that doesn't help me," said Scott apologetically. He appreciated what Kirk was trying to do for him, but wished that he hadn't put McCoy on the spot like that. Still, considering how things had ended up, the man seemed more wistful than anything else.

"It's been almost seven years," McCoy said, interpreting Scott's look correctly. "I don't hate her. Certainly don't hate the way things turned out. I just miss my daughter." He set his empty cup down and rose. "Gentlemen, I'll be in my office if you need me. Please try not to."

After he'd gone, Kirk looked thoughtful.

"You know what," Scott said hastily, "don't worry about it. All due respect, Captain, but things were fine between me and Gaila before I decided to listen to your advice, so if it's all the same to you, I think I'll just—"

"When are you seeing her next?"

"We _were_ scheduled to work the same shift, but now she's gone and switched herself with Lieutenant Frost. Just as well. Pr'haps if I give her some time—"

"No, that's good," Kirk interrupted. His eyes had this soft sort of glow that Scott knew rarely led to anything good. "Sulu's got alpha shift too. Once you get off duty, get hold of him and find out if he's managed to cultivate anything…non-lethal in the botanic garden. In fact, just head there after your shift. I'll send him down to you. You can't go wrong with flowers."

It wasn't a bad idea, actually. Scott found himself remembering his first sight of Gaila, not long after he and Kirk had beamed from Delta Vega to the _Enterprise._ Long green legs. Coppery ringlets that framed her lovely face like petals. _She looks like a flower,_ he'd thought at the time. Still thought. Flowers, then. All right.

"Thanks, Captain." But he said it guardedly.

*

"_Non-_lethal?" Sulu looked doubtful.

"Mister Sulu," Scott said with more than a little consternation, "just what are you growing in here?"

"Relax," Sulu said, giving Scott's elbow a friendly thump. "I'm only kidding. Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Well," he said, indicating a terrarium set somewhat apart from the others. The plants it contained were obviously tropical; beads of moisture slid slowly down the plexiglass. As Scott peered closer, one of the plants – this pale green coiled thing with so many tiny spindles it almost looked hairy – _sprang_ right for him. It hit the terrarium's side with a minute thud and fell back, wriggling against the moist soil.

"That's a plant, is it?"

"Definitely not anything else," said Sulu. "It's not lethal. Though I guess it depends on where it latches onto you. A gift from the inhabitants of Rukbat III. I call it Walter."

"A gift, eh?" Scott said, watching as Sulu tapped the plexiglass gently with his forefinger. A look of fondness crossed his face. The plant – Walter - wriggled some more, but didn't launch itself at him as it had Scott. "Well, it obviously likes _you_, but I'm looking for something I can give to a lady."

"Gaila," Sulu said, turning away from the terrarium. "The captain told me that things didn't go so well last night. Sorry to hear that. She's a great girl."

"Aye, the best."

"Look," said Sulu, his glance flicking away from Scott's. He ran a hand through his hair. "It probably isn't my place to say anything, and I'm sure you know this already, but – you didn't propose to her because the captain suggested it, did you? Because – and it's not like I have a lot of experience to draw on – that just doesn't seem like a good reason to propose to someone."

Scott was taken aback. "Give me a little more credit than _that_, Mister Sulu."

"I do! Believe me, I do." Sulu combed his fingers through his hair again, and Scott realized that it was a nervous gesture. "It's just that we'd been drinking and—"

"I can drink the lot of _you_ under the table and don't you forget it," Scott retorted, straightening his shoulders. Though the man had a point, he supposed. He _had_ been drinking and Gaila had known it. Was it possible she'd thought that it had been the whiskey talking when he'd proposed? Surely she knew him better than that.

He was certain that she did. All the same, it had been a passionate moment, and people said and thought strange things during moments of passion. Though surely by now she'd have realized…

Sulu was looking at him anxiously. Remembering that he was young – even younger than the captain – Scott made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Ah, never mind, lad. Just help me out."

Sulu relaxed visibly. "Glad to. Got any requisites besides non-lethal?"

Scott considered. "Something bonny that cannae think for itself," he said at length.

*

Scott spent the rest of beta shift in his quarters, wondering how to proceed. The flowers that Sulu had selected were all very well and good, but they alone would not solve the problem. He had to talk with Gaila, find out what it was that had upset her so. He hated the possibility that he might have hurt or offended her even inadvertently, and that was something that he had to make her understand.

He couldn't lose her. Bloody hell, he couldn't lose her.

Landing on the _Enterprise_ and meeting Gaila were the two best things that had ever happened to him, Scott knew. That one had followed the other so swiftly was nothing short of providence, proof that the universe had finally forgiven him for losing Admiral Archer's ruddy beagle. At first, he'd had trouble believing his good fortune. He'd convinced himself that once Starfleet learned he'd abandoned his post at Delta Vega, he'd be hauled off the _Enterprise_, given a speedy court martial, and banished to someplace even worse.

But since Captain Kirk had just saved the entire Federation, he'd been in a position to make demands. And he'd made it quite clear to Admiral Barnett and the rest that he wasn't going back into space without Montgomery Scott as his chief engineer, so that had been that. Then, shortly after Scott had beamed back aboard, all crimes against small dogs forgiven or at least ignored, Gaila had made it quite clear that she wanted him in her bed. Since Gaila – as far as Scott was concerned – was _always_ in a position to make demands, _that_ had been _that_.

And for the past three years or so, it had been brilliant. Rows and all. Scott had never been so happy, nor had he ever felt so vital. The _Enterprise_ was the ship of his dreams, and Gaila was the cleverest, sexiest, most exciting woman that he had ever met – and a damn good technician to boot. She actually understood all his physics-defying hypotheses. She did more than that: she often improved upon them.

Also, the sex was bloody fantastic.

He couldn't lose her.

*

Once beta shift was over, Scott rolled out of bed, grabbed the flowers, and headed for Gaila's quarters. On the way, he bumped into Keenser. Literally. The fellow just sort of emerged from a shadowed doorway and Scott bumped right into him.

"Sorry," said Scott. "Wasn't looking—"

He would have continued on his way, but Keenser seized a fold of his trousers, preventing him. Scott looked down at him. "Sorry, but I'm really in a bit of a hurry."

Keenser pulled something out of his pocket and put it into Scott's hand.

"What's this?" It was a data disk, and it was labeled, in Keenser's tightly cramped scrawl, MAKE OUT MUSIC. "Get lost!" exclaimed Scott. "This isn't a seduction, ye wee bampot! And even if it were, I dinnae need—"

Keenser let go of his trousers and held up his hands in a _Fine, suit yourself,_ gesture.

Scott felt a pang. "Sorry," he said again. "Sorry. I do appreciate it, but considering I was _helped_ into this mess, I think I'd better get myself out of it on my own. No offense." He started to hand the disk back, but Keenser shook his head. "Fine." With a sigh, Scott slid the disk into his own pocket. "All right. Here I go."

"Good luck," Keenser grunted.

*

Gaila was at her desk. She had her toolkit and what looked like the remains of a tricorder spread in front of her. She did not look up when he entered.

"Ah," he said, not quite sure how to begin. "What's that you've got there?"

"What does it _look_ like? Ensign Kwan dropped her tricorder. From the top of a ladder. I swear, she's the clumsiest…" Her glance flicked to him, then away. "What's that _you've_ got there?"

Scott held the flowers out to her. "They're for you, of course."

Her spine stiffened and she lifted her chin. "I," she said with a toss of her hair, "am not for sale. Not for flowers, not for anything else."

"I know that," he said gently. "I wasn't trying— Gaila, love, I only want to apologize for whatever I said that upset you last night. I never meant to. Surely you know that."

"You don't even know why I was upset!"

"Ah." He hesitated. "No."

She whirled to face him with such violence that the tricorder pieces jumped and clattered against one another. "And you didn't try to figure it out?"

Indignation flashed through him briefly. "Of course I did," he retorted. "That's practically all I've been doing for the past twenty-odd hours. Look." He dropped the flowers onto her dresser and held out his hands toward her. "I love ye more than anything, lass, but I'm the first to admit that I'm better at figuring out what's wrong with machines than people. That's just who I am. Ye need to talk to me. Ye need to tell me."

She bit her lip and looked away from him. He stood perfectly still, just watching her, begging her silently to help him out.

At last she sighed. "I'm _Orion_."

"I know."

"Orion women don't get married." She was speaking slowly, as if explaining something to a rather simple child. Or as if the words pained her. He wished that he could see her face, but the tumbling hair hid most of it. "Orion women don't get married," she said again heavily. "They get sold. To whichever humanoid male will pay the most. Or wields the most power. Or is valuable in some other way. We reel the males in with our pheromones. Then, once we've been _purchased_—" she spat the word "—we continue to work our wiles…until our so-called owners are all but eating out of our hands. And willing to do whatever we tell them to do – to further the interests of the Orion Syndicate. That's what would have happened to me if I hadn't been rescued, brought to Earth, and given pheromone suppressants so I could live like a _person_, not an – an animal."

Scott's mouth was dry. Gaila never talked about anything that had happened before her adolescence on Earth. Some of the things she was telling him were things that he knew. As Mister Spock had said last night, Orion society was highly secretive, but just about every heterosexual man knew – and, at one time or another, had probably fantasized – about the seductive nature of the Orion women. Recalling those fantasies now – old and faded as they were – he felt a stab of shame.

"I," Gaila went on, "will not be bound to any man. Not by chains. Not by law." She swung back to him at last, her hair swirling about her shoulders like a scarlet cape. Her eyes were very bright, her cheeks stained emerald. "Not to _any_ man. Not even the man I love. And I _do_ love you, Scotty. More than anything. I just…" In her lap, her hands opened and closed spasmodically.

It was the sight of those hands that did him in. Three quick strides and he had closed the gap between them. He cupped her slender shoulders, gave them a tentative squeeze, and was relieved when she did not pull away. "I'm sorry, lass. Believe me when I say that I am _so_ sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up the way I did. I should've asked you what you thought about marriage beforehand."

"Yes," Gaila said, "you should have. I'd have told you all that, and I wouldn't have been angry. I mean," she went on, looking up at him, the first wan smile tugging at the corners of her lips, "what would be the point of it anyway? _I_ don't plan on being with anyone else but you."

"Well," he said reluctantly, "there _are_ benefits. Should we ever decide to own property. Should we decide to try for a baby…sometime down the line. I _am_ rather fond of the idea of having what we've got recognized by the law. But," he continued quickly, even though her expression hadn't altered, "I don't need it. I just need you, lass. And I wasn't thinking about any of those things last night. All I thought about was being with you for the rest of my life – and how much I'd like that."

"Oh, _Scotty._" She pulled away then, but it was only so she could rise from the chair. Sighing, she wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned into his chest. He hesitated only a moment before sliding his fingers into her hair and holding her close against him.

They stood like that for a little while. Scott was aware of every breath she took, of the spicy scent of her hair and skin. Around them, the _Enterprise_ hummed softly, and the occasional chirrup or beep made him smile.

By and by he said, "Does this mean all's forgiven?"

"Um," said Gaila. "Yeah, I guess it does. I wanted to be angry for longer, but I can't."

He kissed her hair. "If you want to be angry with anyone, be angry with Captain Kirk. He's the one as put the idea into my head. Proposing, I mean. Not being with you forever."

"And you _listened_ to him?"

"Aye, it was daft of me."

"You'd been drinking."

"Yes, but mostly I was daft."

"Hmm." She tilted her head back and gazed up at him. "We _could_ give Captain Cupid what he wants. Partly."

"What do you mean?"

"Well… I liked _some_ of what you said before. Specifically, the part about us being recognized. Not by the law, necessarily, but by the crew of this ship. I mean, all the women already know that _you_ are off-limits. And I assume that the men know the same thing about me because no one but you has tried to get up my skirt in ages. But I think I like the idea of a big announcement. Like a ceremony. Uhura got to have one. And there'd be a party. Which would be fun."

"A ceremony," mused Scott.

"Yes. But without the contract or license or whatever makes it official. And without rings. I don't want a ring." She was adamant.

"All right," he said. "No rings. Is there anything I _can_ get you?"

"A new diagnostic scanner?" she said. "A girl can never have too many."

"Aye," said Scott. "That I can do."

"Why, what's this?" Gaila's hands had strayed to his hips and found Keenser's data disk. Before he could stop her she had it out of his pocket and was peering at it in bemusement. "Make out music," she read. "Why, Scotty! You were more confident than you let on!"

"It's not mine," he insisted. "Keenser pushed it on me and wouldn't take it back."

"Shall we see what's on it?"

"I don't think," he began, but she'd already turned back to the desk and popped the data disk into her own tricorder. Almost at once, the smooth tones of Marvin Gaye filled the room. The flowers on Gaila's dresser began to hum along.

"Oh, for—" But he shut his mouth when Gaila started to sway. She moved with bewitching grace, her entire body undulating like a veil of emerald and scarlet silk. A moment later and she was back in his arms, her hands curved around the back of his neck. She ground her hips against his, and his knees went weak. "Let's get it on, Mister Scott," she purred.

*

Much later, when they lay drowsily content in each other's arms, the sweat drying on their skin and hair, Gaila said, "I have another idea. Let's do a traditional Betazoid wedding. That way I'll get to see everyone naked one last time."

"Oi." Scott tweaked her hair playfully. "I think your last time was before we decided to be exclusive. Besides, being naked in front of _you_ is quite pleasant, but I dinnae think I can do it front of the captain, never mind Mister Spock."

"Fine, fine." She wriggled in his arms, rolled over, and pressed her chin against his sternum. Her eyes seemed to glow softly in the room's dim light. "Though I promise you have nothing to be ashamed of." She pressed her mouth to his chest and kissed him lazily, the tip of her tongue gliding over his cooling skin.

"Hmm. What about kilts?" he said.

"What, have all the men wear kilts?"

"Aye."

"Men don't wear anything under their kilts, do they?"

"We do," said Scott with a grin. "But," he went on, cupping the back of her head and bringing her close so her lips brushed his, "it's not much!"

*

Kirk approved of the ceremony _sans_ license idea, and the kilts. "And if anyone has objections," he said, "that's just too bad." He was smiling thoughtfully as he spoke and his eyes were focused not on Scott and Gaila, but the closed door of his ready room, which caused Scott to wonder just which crewman the captain anticipated having to wrestle into his kilt.

"I owe it to you, anyway," Kirk went on, turning back to them. "I understand I almost wrecked things, and for that I apologize. In fact, if there's anything I can—"

Gaila cut him off. "All due respect, Sir, please. Just show up." Both her smile and her tone were sweet, but Scott caught the undercurrent of steel and hoped that Kirk did as well. Scott thought that perhaps he did because there was genuine contrition beneath the merriment in his eyes.

"Lieutenant, I _apologize._ Now, if you two will excuse me, I have to inform the rest of my senior staff that they're getting measured for skirts whether they like it or not."

Scott opened his mouth. Skirts indeed! If the captain really thought Scott was going to sit by while he insulted—

Gaila kept him quiet with a hand on his thigh.

*

It began well.

Scott wore the tartan of his native Aberdeen, as did the rest of the men in attendance, including Keenser, who spent much of the ceremony dabbing at the corner of his eye. While Kirk spoke about the days of the first wooden vessels and the happy privilege all shipmasters have enjoyed since then, Scott gazed at Gaila.

She was radiant – make that _especially_ radiant – in her long sea-green gown of Tholian silk. Her hair was piled high and held in place by jeweled pins, except for a single tendril that caressed her cheek. She made him think of mermaids or those crimson-petaled flowers that grew in the tropical seas of Aurilon. Her smile was dazzling.

The vows they recited, which they'd written themselves, were so peppered with engineering jargon that, in all likelihood, they were the only two who understood what exactly they were promising each other. But Scott rather liked it that way, and he knew that Gaila did too.

Afterward, Kirk passed around glasses of wine. Raising his own in a toast, he began, "I have to say—"

And then a blast rocked the ship. Most of the wedding party was knocked off its feet. Gaila crashed into Scott, who clutched her to him as he went down. Glass splattered and wine splashed their skin and clothing.

"Bridge," Kirk barked over the sirens, "report!"

Chekov's voice came over the comm. "Klingon warbird, Sir! Damage to lower decks. Reports coming in…"

"Dammit!" Kirk pushed himself off the floor and smoothed his kilt down over his knees. "Damn Klingons. Mister Chekov, I'll be right there. Raise shields. Everyone, to your stations." Everyone started to leave.

"Wait, Captain." Gaila had disentangled herself from Scott and climbed unsteadily to her feet. Her movements hampered slightly by the tight skirt of her dress, she stumbled to Kirk's side and gripped his forearm. "Before you go – marry us for real!"

Scott shook his head, sure he'd misheard. "Lieutenant," said Kirk, "this is hardly the time—"

"Please, Captain!" Gaila insisted. "It would only take a moment. And – what if we all die?"

"No one's dying!"

"I know," she said, "but what if?"

Scott was back on his feet by that point. He caught hold of Gaila and turned her around. "Lass," he said, searching her face, "are ye _sure_?"

"Of course I'm sure," she snapped. "I've been thinking about it for a while and – I've changed my mind. I _like_ laws. I want them binding us."

Over her shoulder, Scott caught Kirk's eye. The captain looked a bit frenzied, but he said, "Fine. Fine. But _only_ because I drew up a license just in case."

While Gaila huffed indignantly, Kirk turned back to the comm. "Mister Spock, are you and Uhura almost at the bridge?"

"Affirmative, Captain," came the reply.

"Good. I'll be just a minute behind you. Hail the Klingons. Find out what the hell they want. And for the love of God, don't let them know you're wearing a skirt. Kirk out." He turned back to Scott and Gaila, gripped them both by the arm, and dragged them to the computer terminal. "Computer, pull up file 'scotty.gaila/marriage/kirkwins.' All right," he said when the license appeared on the screen. "Enter your personal codes."

Once they'd done that, Kirk saved the file and wheeled them both around to face him. "All right. By the power vested in me by the United Federation of Planets, I now pronounce you husband and wife." The words tumbled out raggedly, and before he'd even finished, Gaila had thrown herself into Scott's arms and was kissing him fervently on the mouth. Still more than a little dazed, Scott kissed her back.

"Ah," said Kirk. "Good, you don't need me to walk you through that part. Now," he went on in a stern voice that brooked no argument, "get down to engineering and save my ship!"

And they did.

6/29/09


End file.
